


and I could easily lose my mind

by chasingforeverandaday



Series: what am I supposed to do? (the robin hood au) [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arya's a regular warrior princess, Banter, Childhood Friends, F/M, Fluff, Gendry's an outlaw, Timeline? What Timeline?, and she learned how to flirt, but not a member of the brotherhood, confused flirting, oh no she's hot, so Gendry.exe has definitely stopped working, somehow being sent to the Twins because someone arranged a marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22619218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingforeverandaday/pseuds/chasingforeverandaday
Summary: When he’d begun this mad quest of his to help the people of the Riverlands by robbing the bloody Freys, Gendry had never quite expected it to end this way, with a gleefully kidnapped princess riding behind him on a horse, her arms wrapped tight around his waist while he was doing everything in his power to escape the thundering hooves echoing through the trees.Or: the Robin Hood AU
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Series: what am I supposed to do? (the robin hood au) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1647274
Comments: 38
Kudos: 180





	and I could easily lose my mind

**Author's Note:**

> One of the February prompts from days-of-gendrya on tumblr caught my eye, and this was just a really fun little fic to write. I definitely tweaked the original prompt to fit more into a canon-ish universe, but I like where it ended up. This basically splits from canon sometime in season 3, but let's just pretend Arya never left the Riverlands and was cooped up in Acorn Hall for a few years until she's about 16/17, at which point somehow she winds up being forcibly taken to the Twins by Frey men to fulfill the marriage contract put in place by Catelyn and Robb (don't ask me how, that part of the backstory is getting hand waved at the moment). Cool? Cool. 
> 
> Original prompt: Gendry is an outlaw who steals from passing highborns and gives the money to the commonfolk. When he decides to rob the coach of the Starks and is pushed into kidnapping the girl inside (more like Arya forces him to save her from an arranged marriage), he's way over his head.
> 
> Title from "Georgia" by Vance Joy.  
> Let me know what you think, I love reading comments!

Gendry, unacknowledged bastard and former blacksmith apprentice, had never intended to become a thief and an outlaw, but it was the lot in life he’d been thrown after countless twists and turns. 

When he’d begun this mad quest of his to help the people of the Riverlands by robbing the fucking Freys, Gendry had never quite expected it to end this way, with a gleefully kidnapped princess riding behind him on a horse, her arms wrapped tight around his waist while he was doing everything in his power to escape the thundering hooves echoing through the trees. 

Honestly, he’d been hoping to make the difference in a few lives before inevitably being strung up next to the men of the Brotherhood who sold him years ago; or maybe he’d escape the war somehow and make his way to Qohor and take up his hammer once more; perhaps in his wildest dreams find Arya again and make sure she was safe; but this? No, he’d never expected this.

* * *

After being ambushed by the bloody Brotherhood in the woods, he’s separated from Arya and Hot Pie, since they seem to think he’s the most dangerous one of the three of them due to his size. By that logic, Arry’s not a target at all, so he keeps his arguing to a minimum to keep her safe. These men can’t take too close a look at her, can’t realize just who it is they have in their captivity.

Of course, Arya being the bloody stubborn pain in the arse that she is, she can’t seem to grasp that it’s in her best interest to be quiet for once in her godsdamned life and continues to chirp and bicker with the bandits. For all their bluster and nonsense, Gendry doesn’t think they mean any particular harm, but he isn’t willing to test that theory. So he shuts up and glares at Arya to follow his lead, which she finally does, reluctantly as always.

Which means that of course Hot Pie is the one to reveal their secrets, in that entirely unintentional and so hopelessly naive way of his. The Brotherhood sold him to an innkeeper for coin to fund their noble idiocy, and while a kitchen is much more Hot Pie’s domain than the forest, Gendry would miss him. But as they are saying their farewells, he calls her _Arya._

Hot Pie calls her _Arya_ for the first and last time, after so many months of calling her nothing but _Arry_ even after learning she was a girl. One of the men hears him, and then it’s all over, it’s impossible to hide the Princess of the North when she’s brought in front of Lord Beric, a man who had known her father quite well. 

Arya fights, because Arya doesn’t know how not to fight, squirming in the tight hold of the silent guard who’d overheard Hot Pie. She swears and spits at Beric, doing nothing but prove his point as she denies and denies and denies who she is. But he tilts her chin and looks down at her dirty face, and pronounces her Arya Stark to this Brotherhood with Banners, the very image of her father. And then she quiets, and Gendry knows she can barely hold in the sob that always builds when she hears mention of her father, because normally she would spin around and hide away from anyone who would see it as weakness. But here she can only bare her teeth and drag back the emotion threatening to claw its way out of her. 

When they were deep in the woods, no one around but Hot Pie, she would bury her face against his back at night when she thought he was asleep after she said her list and cry for her father and her family and herself, for all she had lost. It had taken everything in him not to turn over and pull her close, remind Arya that she would never be alone for as long as he had breath in his body, because he would never leave her by herself. So he would close his eyes and breath deeply, trying to coax her to sleep with nothing more than the steadiness of his body, the only thing he could offer that she would accept without complaint.

But they weren’t alone in the woods, that avenue was gone now. He never saw her again that day, not after Beric guides her back into the inn and he’s roughly turned around, the knife of another member of the Brotherhood shoved under his chin. They question him, ask if he’s ever taken liberties with the young girl they found with him in the woods. And he denies every last one of the improprieties they can accuse him of, because he would never, could never, do any of those things to a woman, let alone Arya, his best friend in the world. They finally relent, let him drop to the ground with his hands still tied, let him rest for only a moment before hauling him up and basically forcing him on the blacksmith in this little village. He’s given a quick once over, asked about his apprenticeship in the capital, but the questions seem useless, because the smith stopped looking annoyed the moment he caught Gendry’s hard stare. 

The man had far less coin to give than the innkeeper did for Hot Pie, but the Brotherhood accepts all gifts to their cause magnanimously, without care for the life of the boy they were selling off.

The blacksmith is kind at least, willing to let Gendry rest for a day while recovering from the whiplash this sudden change in circumstances had wrought. By the time he wakes in the cot he’d collapsed on, the Brotherhood is gone, Arya spirited away in the night. He never had the chance to say goodbye.

After moping about for a day, the smith’s patience runs out, and Gendry wakes to a bucket of water dumped on his head in the early morning, not even dawn yet. Sputtering, he leaps up, ready to fight with whomever has woken him, but the man only folds his arms and jerks his head to the second anvil in the corner. Pissed at himself for being so easily defeated, Gendry works sullenly. He falls back into the smithing because it is all he has ever known, this world of smoke and ash and steel. He repairs pots and fixes hinges and forges horseshoes, nothing like the swords and mail and armor of King’s Landing.

The years pass and the two silent smiths of the Crossroads learn to live with one another, a life of grunts and pointing, few words exchanged if they can help it. Eventually, there are smiles shared and jokes that neither but the other can understand. It’s a quiet life, and once maybe it would have been something Gendry could have been happy with. But then he’d met Arya Stark, and her sincere desire for more in life had somehow made its way into his veins, no hope of getting it out. Though everyone else here had forgotten about the stubborn little brat he’d been captured alongside, he never could.

And if perhaps he’d dreamed of a life where they can just be Arya and Gendry, a blacksmith and a whatever she wanted to be, where he can lie beside her at night and not feel guilty for wanting to be her family, no one has to know. But that was just a dream, and now he must deal with the hand reality had dealt him. 

In his waking hours, he can convince himself that this is enough, that knowing Arya must have made her way back to her family is enough. But he hears of the Red Wedding after years of nothing from the Brotherhood, and he breaks. 

There’s no word of Arya, no mention of the wild wolf girl in the stories of the violence and blood from that night, but in his heart of hearts Gendry cannot let himself believe that she died, because what if he’d still been with her? What if he’d fought harder to remain by her side instead of submitting to the bloody Brotherhood? What if, what if, what if?

He leaves the next morning, sharing one last meal with the kindly smith who had accepted the teenage boy with nothing to his name. He tells him that he cannot stand by and let the men who destroyed his best friend run roughshod over this land he now calls his home. The man smiles, the way indulgent fathers do to their sons, and says he will always have a place here, should he want it. Then he retrieves something from under his own bedroom, a long sword hidden by a sheet. Placing it across Gendry’s knees, he gestures for him to open it, a sly grin on his face when Gendry’s own goes slack.

It’s Valyrian steel, it has to be, the rippling of the steel unlike anything Gendry had seen since leaving Master Mott’s shop. The blade looks pristine, no record of the years it had been laying under a bed in this rundown smith on the metal. He turns to the handle, smooth and unadorned but for the small mark on the crossbar, one he’s memorized in the years he’s lived here. He looks up into the eyes of the smith, mouth open, so many questions in his eyes. The man sighs, running fingers back through thinning black hair before solemnly staring back with tired blue eyes.

“I fought in the Battle of the Trident with my cousins, had been knocked on my arse in the mud when I saw the man who wielded that blade fall next to me just as I lost my own. I picked it up and it saved my life. Brought it back home with me after, made it mine by replacing the ridiculous hilt on that thing. And now it’s yours.” Putting up a hand to stop the protest Gendry has yet to form, he continued, “I’m an old man, no sons or daughters to leave it to. You’re all I have, boy, so learn to smile and accept a gift every once in a while.” 

“Thank you, I don’t know how I can ever…”

“No repayments boy, what did I just say? Now, remember you do have to actually swing the thing for it to do anything, just because it’s Valyrian steel doesn’t mean it can fight your battles for you.” In the flickering light of the forge, Durran Storm stood and left his awestruck charge alone by the hearth, still touching the sword in his hands delicately, as if touching it too firmly would break the spell.

Gendry leaves before dawn, riding off into the woods in search of revenge on the house that took everything from his best friend. And if he happens upon the men of the Brotherhood Without Banners, well, he’s a bit inclined to see just how close a shave he can give them with his new sword for all the trouble they’d caused.

* * *

It’s not until years later that he finds Arya tied to a tree along the edges of a camp of rowdy Frey soldiers, so long since he’s seen her that it takes him longer than he’d hoped to recognize the woman she’d grown into. But the vicious snarl on her lips and the fury in her gray glare when he places a hand to her mouth from behind can only belong to one woman, despite the very different clothing she wears.

His heart sings as her eyes widen, smiles overtaking them both before a drunken laugh from the center of the camp reminds him of where exactly they are. Quickly returning to his task, he frees her feet and then her hands, dragging her along behind him as they run through the woods as silently as they can. They’re seconds from his horse when the first shout goes up, and a meeting of blue and gray confirms his fears as he vaults into the saddle, helping her up behind him.

Kicking his heels, they take off into the darkness of the trees, Arya’s arms tight around his waist.

They shake their pursuers as dawn breaks, and then they keep going, running for as long as their tired steed will move. Upon finding a stream, they stop to catch their breath and allow the horse an opportunity for rest. She hops off before he can get down to assist her, entirely unhindered by the voluminous skirts swirling around her hips. Arya is still nimble as a deer, gracefully dancing out of his way as he heaves himself down. Once the horse is happily lapping at the water, Gendry turns back to her, freezing in his tracks as he takes her in fully for the first time in years.

Because gods if she doesn’t look beautiful with her long curly hair, tangles whipping about her face, a blush high in her cheeks from the excitement and the wind. And her hand had fit so nicely in his when he’d pulled her onto the horse, chest heaving against his back as they made their escape. And her grinning lips look pink and soft as she laughs, truly free for the first time in years. He cannot help but smile back at her, her enthusiasm so contagious he picks her up and spins, her giggles fueling his madness as his hands clasp her waist. 

Coming to a slow stop, their laughter fades away, until all that is left is the sound of their breathing and the heartbeat pounding in Gendry’s ears, so loud she must be able to hear it, as close as they are. Arya is still in his arms, suspended over the ground, high enough they are nose to nose and gaze to gaze, locked in a stare. Arya’s tongue flicks out to wet her lips and he has to hold in his groan as he gently sets her down, biting back the kiss he desperately wants to place on her lips, this gorgeous girl who had once known him better than anyone else in the world.

Gendry was nothing more than a bastard, and she was a princess, and life simply did not work that way. 

He shook his head before looking down at her again, brushing an errant piece of hair out of her curious gray eyes. Clearing his throat, he searched for a more neutral topic of conversation, but all he can do is stare at the ridiculous red thing she’s wearing.

“So why the fuck are you in the that dress?” _And when the fuck did you grow up?_ He manages not to let second question escape his mouth, and mentally berates himself for even noticing at all the changes in Arya in the years they’ve been apart. 

She smirks as she backs up and twirls around, lifting her skirts dangerously high to show him the glimpse of steel against her pale skin. “It’s far easier to arm myself in this than my breeches, none of the idiots suspected a thing. Besides,” she paused, blinking up at him innocently as she adopts a simpering voice he never thought he’d hear from her lips, “I’m merely a poor misplaced princess, of course I’m glad to wear whatever dresses are provided for me rather than those terrible rags I’ve been forced into for years.” 

Arya straightened up once more, a bright, hungry gleam in her gaze that promised mischief. “The fucking Freys had no idea what was coming for them, they were expecting some frilly little girl, not me. Lady Smallwood may have taught me how to be a lady, but she also let the Brotherhood teach me to survive. I wouldn’t have gone quietly, I can promise you that.” Suddenly she was in his space again, a hand lightly running along his shoulder. “But now I guess I don’t have to worry about getting out of the Twins by myself, seeing as my big brave knight has rescued me.”

He snorted, crossing his arms as he stepped away from her, putting space between them once more for the sake of his sanity. “I’m not a bloody knight Arya, just a bastard blacksmith.” _And not even truly a blacksmith anymore either._

She mirrored his stance as she looked unimpressed at his surliness. “Well you certainly seemed knightly enough, rescuing the stupid princess from an arranged marriage to the house that killed her family.” Coming closer again, Arya backed him up against a tree until her full skirts were brushing against his trousers and he had to look down to fully see her face, she raised an eyebrow as she gave his body an appreciative, slow glance. “And you look the part, with your stupidly big arms and your shining sword and that lovely horse of yours.”

“Arry…” All the air had left his lungs, along with sense and reason, with his honor hanging on by a thread. His world had narrowed down to the woman in front of him, and he could do nothing to save himself from falling into her gravity.

“Don’t Arry me, let me thank you.” Lifting onto her toes, she leaned in, pressing her hands against his chest as she stared up into his eyes. Mesmerized, he could do nothing but hold his breath as she drew closer and closer, until their noses were touching. Just as he was about to lose his mind entirely and kiss her, her eyes flitted away and she angled for his cheek, her lips brushing along his jaw as she reached his ear. He could feel her breath on his skin as she whispered, “Thank you Gendry, for saving me.” Then she was gone, prancing back towards the horse, a teasing smirk over her shoulder.

Rubbing his palms into his forehead in an attempt to restart his brain, Gendry muttered to himself, “I am so fucking fucked,” before following after her, like he had always been born to do.

**Author's Note:**

> And yes, I could definitely see this one getting continued eventually, because I love it. Also because I did a mental dive into Robin Hood canon and wow do the individual members of the Brotherhood match up with the Merry Men super well. Although honestly Arya is more a combination of Robin and Marian with Gendry as her Little John, but I digress...


End file.
